Chapter 34 is finally updated, FYI. Sorry about that. I've lurked on FF for eleven (!) years but I am still learning the actual author functions on the site :)
After a battle was over, when the roars and screams stop and the casualties are bundled away, Easy always went through a strange lull of introspection. After the shock of who was killed and who was maimed wore off there was always a moment where everyone went silent, reflecting on their own luck and working the odds as to whether it would last. As the adrenaline and panic drained away the natural instinct was to evaluate everything done – whether in the fight itself or, hell, all the way back to birth – to make some calculation of whether survival was deserved. As if a pious past or brave present granted some holy protection from the indiscriminate bullets that were going to without fail come flying again eventually. Until Caroline, Joe thought he knew the answer to that equation and usually took those quiet seconds to wonder when his number was finally going to be called.
For that sort of moment to happen in a place other than the battlefield, though, was rare. So when he found himself waiting outside Winters' office, of all places, he was completely unprepared as it struck. He was alone, the others having gone their separate ways after Henrich was tossed to the medics and word was passed that a Nazi collaborator was in Caroline's cellar. He was listening to the low murmur of voices traveling through the wall behind him as Winters and Nixon discussed the mission he wanted so urgently to happen. As he sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair his mind took a sudden unforeseen turn to reflect on what had happened. What he had turned into over the course of these months. He stared at the blood drying under his fingernails and thought of what he was prepared to do to get to Caroline and what he had done already. What kind of man he was.
He always had his demons, churning and squirming underneath the cold hard lid he developed over the years to function like a normal human being. A cap to free him from descending into raging madness and allow him to take risks he wouldn't otherwise – risks like making friends for the first time in his life at Toccoa.
But the war that followed eventually left him embittered and heartless, ripping from him his brothers in arms with gory proficiency that thinned his control to where he was ready to let the darkness take over. To give in and lose the last fraying threads of his decency. As the small fire of hope in him dimmed and died in the brutal slog from France to Holland to Belgium and into Germany the shadows grew closer and closer until those demons were whispering in his thoughts with every bullet he fired.
He wouldn't trade his time with guys like Skip, Hoobler, Buck, or Toye for anything, but as they fell one by one he was forced to reckon with his breaking grip on his ability to stay moored to the idea that he wasn't a monster. The times he slipped – at the Crossroads, in Landsberg, at Eichelsdorfer's cabin – he didn't feel remorse afterwards. On the contrary he felt the blistering desire to inflict more death and – in the days since Kaufering – satisfaction with every body he left in his wake.
And now not only could he not make himself feel even a drop of pity for the shattered man he left with the medics, he still had the urge to go back and finish what he started.
He took that to mean more than anything that the demons might as well have won. That the lid evaporated under the punishing allotment the world was inflicting on him. On all of them. He remembered Malarkey's face in Haguenau – the blank, tired, defeated look of a man who had nothing left but his own mortality. He remembered the day Nixon learned of his impending divorce and how he raged as though the loss of a dog thousands of miles away was the final straw in the limit of how much a man could take.
For Joe, the compounding web of events concentrated over the last seven days was what removed any remaining doubt of if he had fallen to his own heinous depravity. He couldn't lie to himself about how good it felt breaking Henrich. The revenge was necessary and deserved, but the joy he took in it was a product of the black forces within him that now had free reign over both his scruples and his conscience.
This bout of perspective wasn't entirely new. Lord knows he spent enough time recently lamenting how he ended up in the desperate chase to get her back. And in all the days before now, when he realized that he had survived yet another implausibly fatal situation, he had thought over the reasons why and the increasing probability that his time on Earth was lasting just long enough for his sins to become completely irredeemable.
Now that he finally acquiesced to the fact what little good he had in him had splintered with Henrich's screams, the only question left to be answered was if he could in fact someday crawl out into the light again.
It was a question that hinged on Caroline.
A woman with her own darkness, he now knew, that may be even deeper than his. A woman trying to find her way, just as he was, out of the terror of the past. A woman he loved. And he knew that if she slipped away, if she was lost to him forever, the last hope there was for him would wither and die along with her.
All because of that moment in the woods when he tore everything apart.
I'm sorry, Joe.
Fucking guilt. Something to be dismissed and laughed at just a few days ago. Now it was the only thing besides the blackness.
Damnation and regret were poor company indeed.
"I want you to listen to me very carefully, Joe."
It was the moment of truth. Anguishing thoughts carefully sealed away, he kept his face aloof and blank as he surveyed his commanding officers. "Yes, sir."
Winters' eyes were steady as he propped himself on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. Nixon and Speirs flanked him, also watching Joe.
It felt like a fucking inquisition.
"I've heard what you have been doing lately. Quite the one-man mission you've been executing."
Shit. "Sir, I – "
Winters held up a silencing hand. "Don't say a word. Understand that I do not care about Nazis – especially ones who hide instead of surrendering – but that does not mean I want to hear anything incriminating. The important matter you need to remember moving forward is that nothing comes across my desk to cause me misery. The moment I have to deal with one more piece of paper due to your actions is the moment this vendetta comes to an end. Am I clear?"
Barely allowing himself to breathe a sigh of relief, Joe nodded. "Yes, sir."
"With that in mind Captain Nixon has presented a strong case to authorize a mission to go get this German woman. Before I sign off on it, however, I need a reassurance from you that this will be as smooth and clean as Captain Nixon promises it to be. The objective here is not to attack, destroy, or kill. It is only to retrieve the target and withdraw, ideally without our presence ever being detected. To do so you will need to conduct yourself like the exemplary soldier you have demonstrated yourself to be since Normandy. You will follow orders and you will not act outside of the mission's parameters. There will be no deviations, no hesitations, no headaches for anyone regardless of what you find when you get to this camp."
Joe recalled Holland in Winters' unamused expression.
"Goddammit, what?!"
He got almost all of his ammunition taken away for that one. The walk to HQ with those prisoners was long.
"Yes, sir."
"If you give me any reason to doubt you I will take you off of the assignment even if you are already in the air. The only reason I am allowing you to be a part of it in the first place is because we hope the target will be more amenable to leaving with you rather than a force she doesn't recognize and will assume is the enemy. The timetable is critical here and we don't want her resisting if she is able-bodied enough to do so. But do not think that won't delay in replacing you with another German-speaking soldier if the situation calls for it."
Joe squeezed his fingers together behind his back, out of sight of the officers, to release some of the boiling tension that filled him as he listened to what Winters was telling him. The mission was approved. He was actually going to fucking go get her. He wasn't too concerned about the conditions being placed on him – he already figured on the slim chance they let him go that he was going to be a fucking saint. Caroline may be someone he would go to the ends of the earth for, but if he did something stupid that got her killed he would see to it that he finally got his meeting with the Devil in the afterlife.
If she wasn't already dead. The thought skimmed across his mind before he quickly ended it. Despite Henrich's warning he didn't think about that possibility. He would rescue her. She would be alive.
She had to be.
That's all there was to it.
"Understood, sir," he answered to Winters.
The Major nodded and stood. "Good. Work with Captain Nixon to map the location you received. You need to be in the air by 2200, which gives you less than five hours to prepare."
Joe took his cue and saluted before turning to follow Nixon and Speirs out. It was going to be a drop, thankfully. Much faster and much more efficient than hoofing it clandestinely through enemy territory, however few German soldiers were left in the sparsely populated area between here and the camp.
The sun was fading as they made their way to Nixon's office a floor below Winters'. Battalion had taken over some civic building at Landsberg, stripping any sign of the Reich from its interiors and replacing it with a swath of army green – spare tents, ammo boxes, drums, helmets, and ration tins were crammed into every empty space. Darting around the towering mess, they entered Nixon's office to find Lipton waiting for them.
"Okay," Nixon began, pulling out a folder. "These are the latest surveillance photographs of the grid Lehmann identified. He said it was a camp just south of the lake, correct Joe?"
Joe nodded and Nixon pulled one picture to put on top of the pile. "This is it then. A Hitler Youth camp that was closed without explanation in 1938. Our review of the recovered files from yesterday has revealed that it was assigned to Dr. Albert Mueller to conduct his psychological experiments of behalf of Joseph Goebbels. Per the intelligence Joe received, Mueller is there now with the target, Caroline Alsbach."
With this Nixon shuffled through the folder again, this time pulling out the photograph of Caroline that had been pinned to her file. As his eyes fell on it the reaction in his gut was immediately visceral and wrenching. There was a hardness there, behind those blue eyes, which he didn't recognize. It was so different than the person he met that night on the road that it felt like he was looking at someone else in the photo. What sort of person had she been? What had happened to drag her so far down to their level?
"A Nazi, sir?" Lipton glanced at Joe before raising an eyebrow at Nixon as if to ask what the fuck they were doing risking their lives to rescue a kraut.
"Formerly, sir," he gruffly clarified.
"Alsbach was acquainted with the inner circle of the leadership," Nixon told the lieutenant, "but was a Jewish sympathizer and, apparently," he motioned to Joe, "an American one too. She has been arrested for the assistance she gave Liebgott in addition to her history of other partisan activities. Our objective is to retrieve her before they kill her and debrief her thoroughly for intelligence purposes. We hope she will assist us in capturing high ranking members as we get closer to Berlin and aid with their prosecution."
He didn't elaborate further into her past and Joe didn't fill in the blanks. Being mightily outranked by everyone present he decided to not test Winters' promise and kept his mouth shut. Lipton nodded in understanding and returned his attention to the map.
"The nucleus of the camp consists of the five main buildings aligned around this main flag pole." Using a pen, he pointed out the area he was referring to. "We know this is a dormitory and this is a dining hall," he extrapolated, circling the two larger structures. "We think this," he motioned to a smaller building, "contains classrooms. We aren't sure what the other two building are and it is unknown if there are further outer structures hidden by the tree cover.
"So what you are saying is that she could be anywhere," Speirs muttered, looking displeased.
"Per Liebgott's interrogation we believe a significant number of civilians are gathered here to seek transport deeper in German territory. Being a prisoner Alsbach would be isolated from them. Presumably, then, she would not be in the three larger of the five buildings since they would be in use as shelters.
Speirs looked at the map, in thought. "What sort of military presence do we think is there?"
Nixon shot a look to Joe. "According the Lehmann less than a squad," he answered cautiously.
Speirs head jerked up in disbelief and he pegged Joe with a stare. "And you believe this to be accurate?"
He thought of Henrich laying in the grass, screaming.
"Yes, sir," he answered levelly. "He advised that all available manpower was shifted to the front. She is the only prisoner there, so just Dr. Mueller and one or two members of his personal detail should be present to handle her."
Handle. He wished he'd used a different word.
"Given this," Nixon continued, "we hope to have an easy in-and-out operation. The plan – as it stands – is to drop here," he indicated a thinner section of the woods about two kilometers from the site, "and proceed on foot to the target area. We check the two main buildings first then proceed outwards until she is located. The three large buildings should be avoided unless evidence indicates that she may be present. The civilians might be unarmed, but we will be heavily outnumbered."
"If only a handful of soldiers are there then one or two platoons should be sufficient for the operation, correct?" Speirs inquired.
"Yes, the fewer soldiers present the less likely we will be seen. Take off is scheduled for 2130, putting us at the drop zone at 2200 and the target site at 2245. If we maintain noise discipline and stay out of plain sight hopefully we will retrieve her and retreat without causing notice. You will need to assign one squad for the recovery operation and the other for covering fire. I'll leave it up to you on the particulars of the arrangement."
Speirs lit a cigarette, still concentrating on the map. "We will set up the line of covering fire at the woodline on the west side of the encampment since that provides the least obstructed view. Half of the infiltrating squad will maintain a perimeter around the buildings as they are searched. Orders will be to fix bayonets and use firearms as a last resort. Any resistance encountered will hopefully be neutralized silently and quickly. If we are engaged in a firefight then the infiltrating squad will retreat to the fire line immediately. This action will alert the civilians, which we will not have the resources to adequately confront. Therefore, at the first sign that noise discipline has been broken we will withdraw at once." He looked back at Joe then. "Understood?"
It would mean leaving Caroline behind. It would mean failing her once again. He couldn't meet Speirs' gaze. "Yes, sir," he replied softly.
The Captain gazed at him for a second longer before turning back to Nixon. "What are the return preparations?"
"That is the more difficult logistical situation," Nixon sighed. "There are no suitable areas to serve as landing strips for return aircraft. The journey back to American territory will need to be made on foot. Winters has assigned Able, Baker and Fox to this portion of the line. Resistance has been steadily weakening in this sector since Landsberg and Mindelheim fell, putting us in a position to start the next offensive push. Doing so simultaneously with this operation will not only serve as a distraction for any unreported German forces are in the area around the camp, but will hopefully also cut the distance you will need to travel to get back. Orders will be, however, to halt at a position from Tussenhausen to Ettringen until the rest of the line catches up to avoid creating the risk of encirclement. Ultimately, then, you will still need to trek overland approximately five kilometers."
"Do we know anything about the condition of the target? Will she be able to travel?" Lipton asked.
Everyone turned to Joe expectantly again. He kept his eyes on the map, face tightening.
"She was mobile when I saw her at Landsberg, but had sustained some injuries that were bleeding pretty good. Per Lehmann, though, this Dr. Mueller may be conducting an interrogation that will possibly leave her incapacitated by the time we get there," he murmured.
"I'll instruct Roe to bring a field stretcher, sir," Lipton advised Speirs.
"Very well. Due to Liebgott's involvement 2nd platoon will lead the extraction. Take elements for 1st as well to round out the necessary coverage. Have the men at briefing at 2000. Lew, can you get me an enlarged copy of the map?"
"Will do."
"Alright then. I'll see everyone in an hour."
The form of the plane was blurred in the early mists of the night as it taxied over to where they waited on the grass, its engines loud and whining. Joe watched it, adjusting the straps of his jump harness out of habit. Even after all these fucking times the damn thing still made him feel like he was wearing a straight jacket. A band of the newer replacements nervously fiddled with theirs, trying to remember how they worked from their training back in the States. It occurred to him that although he had three combat jumps under his belt the new recruits hadn't been in the air since paratrooper school.
Fucking great. Hopefully they wouldn't fall out of the plane ass over end. Grant and Malarkey talked to them softly, giving them a quick refresher as they tightened the buckles.
"Yah need some Joe?" Popeye appeared next to him, holding out a can of grease pant and chewing on a toothpick. With a quick thanks he took a big dip and began streaking it over his face.
"Quite a night for a jump, ain't it?" Popeye's lilt was quiet in the usual hush that always fell before a mission.
"Sure is," he replied briefly. He liked the easy-going Virginian, but was not in a talkative mood even more so than usual. The weight of the parachute on his back and the feel of his rifle in his hands had him jittery and he tapped his fingers against his rifle stock as he watching the plane coming towards them. He was so close now. Close to bringing her back. Close to saving himself just as much as her. Closer to feeling something other than his own crumbled conscience.
Popeye took note and stood quietly next to him, watching the plane as well. The red lightbulb inside the open doorway threw fiery shadows over the gathered group of men.
"Hell of a thing, right?" he said as the plane came to a stop, so low Joe barely heard over the noise. Popeye took out the toothpick and tossed it into the grass.
"What is?" Joe asked, looking over to him.
"War." Popeye met his gaze, his expression hidden under the camouflaging paint. "It'll have yah killing anything that moves one day and throw a woman in yah lap the next. A one-time Nazi one at that. I'll tell you what, none of us thought she'd be the one." He gave a lighthearted chuckle. "Nah, we'd given up tryin' to get you to look at any broad twice. Turns out we was just looking at the wrong side of the line."
Joe snorted in amusement despite the anxiety swallowing his stomach. "Well, I hope somebody made some money off that bet."
"I think they did."
There was the sound of footsteps and the form of Malarkey appeared out of the dimness. "You two ready?"
"Sure am, Sarge," Popeye replied, grinning. "I'll see yah on the ground Joe."
He set off the join the line forming where the flight officer was lowering a set of stairs and Joe went to follow. Malarkey fell into step beside him. "You good to go too?"
From the softer tone of his voice Joe knew he wasn't asking after the status of Joe's equipment. "Yeah, Malark, I'm fine."
"Glad to hear." He patted the rifle case uncomfortably slung across his abdomen. "Listen, I know this mission was briefed as a rescue of an intelligence operative, but the guys know it is more than that."
"Yeah," Joe responded. "I heard money changed hands over some bet they had going on about my luck with women."
"Oh shit, that's right." Now it was Malarkey's turn to give a laugh. "I'd forgotten all about that. Skip started it way back in England."
Ah, Skip. He should have figured. He'd wager that bastard was giggling like a schoolgirl up in heaven.
"Well hopefully we'll get a proper introduction to her next time you bring her around. You know, somewhere without fucking Germans shooting at us and assholes trying to drag her off for being a Nazi."
"I plan on it."
Marlarkey playfully smacked him on the back of his helmet. "First things first, though, is to get through this mission alive. Remember that we've got your back, Joe. We'll get her out of there and when all this is over she'll get the proper vetting from all of us. We've got to see if she's good enough for our Liebgott, right?"
He knew what his sergeant was trying to tell him, if in more friendly terms than Winters. Don't get your ass shot off for being stupid out there. After how the story of him losing it with Henrich surely made the rounds he didn't fault Malarkey for trying to look after him.
"I'll count on it," he answered reassuringly.
Malark flashed him another grin before going up to the door to help squeeze the overloaded soldiers through the tiny opening. As Joe fell into place at the back of the line he took a deep breath, looking up to the stars hidden by the persistent mist.
He was only a few hours away from rescuing her. The map of the camp flashed through his memory. She was there, in one of those buildings, suffering God knows how. She had no idea he – or any of them – were coming for her. If his performance during the battle at her village was anything it was confirmation to her that he hated her and that she had no one. That she was only alone once more.
A now-familiar ache flashed through him and he squeezed his eyes shut for a passing second.
He knew he should prepare for the worst. If they only found her lifeless body, cold and forgotten, he needed to still be able to function. He had to keep his shit together.
If the worst did happen he wasn't going to leave her. He would carry her all the way fucking back if he had to. He wouldn't abandon her again, even in death. That's one of the two times on this mission he decided he wouldn't fucking give a damn about orders.
The other was Dr. Mueller. Nixon wanted him taken alive, if possible. No fucking way. Henrich was one thing. But Dr. Mueller was the man who put everything into motion and there wasn't the time to beat the shit out of him too. So he had one bullet on him specially assigned in the event they stumbled across him.
Part of Joe hoped the man would be with Caroline when they did. He liked the idea of that asshole's last sight being Caroline escaping from his grasp and a Jew pointing a pistol between his eyes.
He was distracted from his thoughts by the flight officer reaching a hand down to him and he realized everyone else had made it on to the plane. Grasping it he pulled himself up and into the cabin, squeezing into the last seat across from to door and next to Heffron. Malarkey entered behind him and motioned that all the men were accounted for before taking the first position seat. Pulling up the stairs, the flight officer disappeared into the cockpit to alert the pilots and seconds later they were bouncing across the unpaved field, quickly gaining speed towards the forest ahead of them. Right before they smacked into the treeline there was a rough jerk upward and with a shudder the C-47 went airborne, skimming over the tops of the trees and heading for the clouds.
Leaning over, he looked out the door as they climbed to cruising altitude. Below them, through the thin shroud of fog, a scattering of bright blasts suddenly lit up the landscape all at once. Artillery. He checked his watch in the glow of the red bulb. The offensive Nixon promised was kicking off right on time. The American shells flashed with increasing frequency against the featureless backdrop, the low thunder of the percussion even reaching him to add to the droning rumble of the plane. There was no German response that he could see from this vantage. Just empty blackness.
The camp wasn't very far from the airfield and they had only been up for about ten minutes before the flight officer came back out to alert Malarkey they were approaching the drop zone. Joe had been nearly bouncing in his seat the whole time, much to Heffron's annoyed chagrin, and when Malarkey gave the order for everyone to stand he shot to his feet.
"Hook up!" the sergeant shouted over the engine noise. With practiced fluidity he snapped his carabiner to the line extending over his head. As the equipment checks started in the back he looked out the door again. The world below was still blank and dark in the weak light of the waning moon. This was his first night drop since D-Day but everything couldn't be more different – there was no anti-aircraft fire now, no people trying to shoot him out of the sky. And he knew exactly what was waiting for him down there.
As well as exactly what he planned to do when he encountered it.
There was a rough yank has Heffron checked his harness before slapping his arm. "Two okay!" he shouted, doing the same to Malarkey.
"One okay!" Malarkey answered and turned to watch the flight officer and that damn lightbulb.
After an agonizingly long minute it flickered green.
"Go!" the flight officer yelled.
Malarkey took off ahead of him and he followed right on the redhead's heels. As he leapt from the doorway there was the most disorienting sensation that happened every time – he was doing nothing but freefalling, plummeting towards the earth at gravity's whim. It scared the shit out of him the first time it happened during training. Now, as the wind tore at his uniform and the screaming roar took the place of the plane's rattle in his ears, he lifted his arms out.
For the briefest second, he flew.
Then his parachute unraveled behind him and with a sharp kick to his gut by his harness it yanked him upwards, forcefully arresting his descent. The roaring died away in his ears, replaced by unwavering silence as he drifted gently downwards to the forest below. Around him he could pick out the black outlines of the other men as they came down as well, dropping to the ground as soundless apparitions. The tops of the trees broke through the haze ahead for him too and he steered around the taller ones, finally choosing a landing spot that as far as he could tell was clear. As he got closer the musty smell of moss and wet earth rose up to greet him and he pulled on his lines to slow himself down.
He had made a lucky guess – his heels hit the clear dirt right between two thorny rows of bushes and he rolled with his landing unimpeded. His chute, though, was another story. It settled directly on top of the prickly branches, forcing him to waste precious seconds ripping it off. Finally getting it free, he balled the silk up and stuffed it back into his pack. As he was locking the clasp a loud racket off to his right echoed through the night. In the weak light he could tell it was McClung crashing to a stop, tangled in a tree and hanging off the ground. He slipped his rifle from its case and made his way over.
"Flash," he whispered.
"Thunder," McClung answered back softly before cursing and yanking on his harness.
Approaching him, Joe looked up at the branches. His lines were in a hopeless mess.
"Son of a fucking bitch –" McClung was grumbling, throwing off his musette bag.
"I'm going to have to cut you down," Joe told him, pulling off his own pack once more.
"Shit. I didn't see this damn tree until the last second. Goddammit –"
Getting a grip on one of the lower branches, Joe hoisted himself towards the stuck paratrooper. "It's happened to everyone at some point. At least no one is fucking shooting on this drop."
McClung begrudgingly grunted in response, still looking pissed. The ropes were wrapped around a branch above his head, out of his reach. Joe maneuvered over to the spot and pulled out his knife to begin sawing.
"Fucking piece of shit chute," McClung continued to mutter to himself.
"Shut the fuck up before you broadcast to the entire fucking continent you are stuck up here," Joe pointed out. "Keep watch instead, why don't you?"
As to prove Joe right, there was another crack of a twig breaking in the darkness that had them both instantly freezing. Joe looked at his rifle on the ground, out of reach. McClung raised his, but he was a fucking sitting duck.
"Flash," a soft voice called out. Joe recognized it immediately. Malarkey.
"Thunder," McClung responded and Joe quickly went back to work. There were quiet footsteps approaching them.
"How'd the fuck you get that tangled up, Earl?"
"I don't fucking know. Sorry, Sarge."
"You got it taken care of, Joe? We can't afford to waste time."
"Yeah, I just –" he made it through all but the last bunch of lines. "The next one is going to drop you, McClung."
"Got it." He pressed himself against the trunk.
With a sharp snap the last line severed and McClung dropped several feet, his grip on the bark stopping him from tumbling to the ground. Finding his footing, he hastily negotiated his way down to the ground. Shoving his knife back into his boot, Joe scrambled down as well and threw his gear back on.
"I owe you Lieb," McClung whispered at him as he tugged his musette bag back on.
"Don't worry about it," he replied. These guys were helping him save Caroline. They didn't owe him a damn thing.
"Let's go," Malarkey whispered to both of them and they followed him as he turned in the direction of the rendezvous point, disappearing back into the brush.
It took them about fifteen minutes to make it to the coordinates where they were to regroup. Joe did a quick count of helmets as they entered the clearing and realized they were the last ones to join. Grant looked visibly relieved as he approached them and reached out to shake Malarkey's hand. "Glad to see you. Run into trouble?"
"Nothing serious," Malarkey replied. "Ready to move out?"
"Yup, just waiting on you guys."
Following the plan, they divided into the two operation groups and started northwest in a tactical column.
Joe volunteered for point. As they maneuvered through the woods the distant rumblings of the offensive still sounded from the south and he checked his watch again. 2230. They were running behind.
He picked up the pace.
The forest seemed… empty. They didn't run across anyone – which was something Joe didn't mind – but there was also… nothing. No hoots of owls, no rustling of night creatures, no sounds of any of the wildlife that should be about after dark. Joe tried to not let it bug him as they moved forward. It was fucking foreboding, to be honest. Like a warning. The emptiness of the woods reflected the emptiness he felt within him, emptiness that would become permanent if he didn't find what he was hoping for at the end of all this. What if the camp was a desolate as the land surrounding it? What if there was nothing but death?
A thick thicket of brush was ahead and he waded into it.
What if this was his end as well as hers?
The branches clawed at his skin and there were some quiet curses coming from behind him.
Stop. Just stop it, Joe.
Making his way out the other side, he moved to start forward again when a glow cut through the trees, stopping him in his tracks.
A light.
He dropped down to his knees, holding up a fist. A rapid set of footfalls came up behind him.
"This must be it," Malarkey breathed in his ear, watching the light as well. "Be careful, Joe."
Caroline.
The beacon shined at him, beckoning him to take off in a run.
Swallowing, he nodded brusquely and rose to his feet again, adrenaline flooding his body and making his knees shake. Taking deliberate, measured steps, he forced his pace to remain steady as he moved towards the sight. Malarkey made his way down the line, ordering absolute light and noise discipline, and the rustling sounds Joe had heard the entire journey immediately died as the men straightened up.
It took forever to get to the tree line. At least it seemed that way.
The light slowly grew closer. It wasn't moving and there weren't any noises to accompany it to alert them of who might be waiting for them. Joe's jaw ached with the strain his control was wresting out of him. He couldn't mess this up. He couldn't burst out shooting. He had to follow the plan.
The outline of a building was visible now off to his left. The dining hall, he remembered. He could vaguely see the dorms behind it. An empty flagpole was directly in front of him and the unknown buildings were to his right. The light was coming from a post next to the flagpole. There was no one in sight.
"First platoon," Grant said lowly. "Spread out and create a line of fire. I want a machine gun covering the flagpole."
"Second platoon is on me," Malarkey ordered, moving in front of Joe and crouching down into the shadows as the light spilled over them. Joe followed suit and Sisk, Ramirez, Heffron, McClung, and Webster lined up behind him. Joe kept his eyes on Webster for a moment. This was the recovery team and Speirs considered it a good idea to have a second German speaker along in case Joe couldn't handle it. Joe didn't appreciate that sentiment and he also didn't appreciate Webster having such an important role despite being unreliable when push came to shove.
Webster met his gaze as he joined them and nodded to Joe, possibly in understanding.
Fucking fine. Joe had no say in it anyway.
The rest of the platoon – a cobbled together group consisting of Perco, Garcia, Popeye, and a couple of replacements Joe didn't know – assembled behind Web as the covering squad.
Inching forward until just a bare amount of greenery covered them, Malarkey motioned to him and he nodded. They were to run out to the first unknown building and assess the situation before everyone else followed.
He rocked forward, his legs cramping. One...Two...Thr-
POP
The sound of a gunshot bounced through the compound and he and Malarkey faltered.
What the fuck –
POP POP
It sounded twice again, but he couldn't tell which fucking building it was coming from. He rose up, whipping his head around but there was nothing. Who the fuck was shooting?
Who the fuck were they shooting at?
Jesus Christ. Caroline. He needed to get to her. He had to -
Malarkey grabbed his elbow and roughly yanked him back down. He shook off the grip. Where the hell would she be? He had to go get her. He had to save her. There was no way he could be this close and they blow her brains out.
Blonde hair covered in fresh, warm blood. Blank, flat blue eyes. Executed.
Fucking Christ.
"Joe," Malarkey was saying. "Joe. We are sticking to the plan. Just stay calm, alright?"
Stay calm? She could be dying right now and he was sitting fifty fucking feet away -
There was a loud bang and he flinched. Another one?
How many fucking bullets did she fucking need in her… oh God…
"That was a door, Joe," Malarkey was hissing at him. He met his sergeant's concerned scrutiny and Winters' warning ran again through his mind.
Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.
But Caroline -
They will send you to the fucking rear if you don't get ahold of yourself.
Then Web…
He forced air into his lungs, feeling lightheaded. His pulse throbbed against the scar in his neck.
No way was fucking Webster finding her.
"Yes, Sarge." He forced his tongue to form the words. He forced his body to stay still. He forced his brain to shut up.
Malarkey nodded after a moment and he released Joe's arm for a second time. Joe didn't move and the sergeant slowly turned back to watch the camp.
Just as Joe focused on the camp as well the sounds of footsteps against the gravel reached them. Running footsteps.
Joe thought he was going to explode as a figure rounded the corner of the building to their right, heading straight for them. His eyes frantically raked over the form.
A man. It was a man, not Caroline. Godammit. Joe had never fucking seen him before. He was wearing civilian clothes and heaved as he booked it right to their position as if he knew they were there. Blood was streaming down his face, coming from a cut somewhere above his forehead.
"What the fuck?" Malarkey breathed. When the man showed no signs of slowing or shooting at them, he jerked towards Joe and the others. "Fucking catch him when he gets here."
They barely had time to nod before the man barreled into their position. Ramirez, the largest of them, reared up, catching the man around the middle and taking him down in a football tackle. With a startled yelp the man fell heavily on his back, gasping as his sight fell over them and their uniforms. He opened his mouth, panic alighting his expression, when Joe scrambled over and landed a hard hand on his face to silence him. His other hand brought his knife up to the man's throat.
"Make a sound and I will fucking gut you," he growled in German. The civilian went white, air whistling in and out of his nose in rapid desperation.
Everyone else held their breath, waiting to see if anything else was going to happen. The camp went back to being silent and empty, their presence still unnoticed.
Joe turned back to their prisoner. "Has somebody been shot?" he asked, his voice low and deadly.
The man nodded his head. Shit.
Joe removed his hand. "Was it a woman named Caroline?"
Instantly babble came out of the man's mouth, hardly making sense to Joe. He was completely panicked and lost his mind. "Blood and – shooting – they said I was – God, I was almost dead – And then –"
Joe dug his fingers into the man's jaw. "Listen to me. Was a woman named Caroline there? Blonde hair, with blue eyes? Busted up face?"
"Blonde, yes – she was – the man was there – Mueller, he said – oh, Christ –"
"Where are they? Where is she?"
He wasn't paying fucking attention, his eyes unfocused. "So much blood… I have never seen – it wasn't supposed to happen. We were supposed to be leaving - "
Grabbing the front of the man's shirt, Joe wrenched him up until they were nose to nose. "Where?"
"The-the building – it's the – Jesus – Jesus –"
Joe shook him roughly. "Which one? Which building? Which goddamn building, you fucking asshole?!"
The man's eyeblls rolled before finally connecting with Joe's. "Do-don't know n-name. The one back there, behind that one." A shaky finger was pointed at the building to the right. So it was the second unknown building behind it.
Joe dropped him instantly and he landed back in the grass. "It's the building behind this one to the right," he announced, the words tumbling out of his mouth. He threw his knife back into his boot and snatched his rifle. He spun towards his sergeant. "Malark?"
Malarkey glanced at the now sobbing German before looking to Joe again. "Let's go."
Joe was standing before Malarkey even finished speaking. As they broke out of the cover, making a beeline for the Caroline's location, the man continued to cry out behind them.
"D-d-dead! Everyone is dead!"
Thanks for reading! Please review with your thoughts!
Guest - here you go! :)